


Salty Bitters

by Verdin



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Edwardian AU, References to Drugs, we'll see where this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: Trouble seems to stalk Asra wherever he goes, and last night was no different. It wasn't the first time somebody tried to kill him, but usually he at least had an idea why. That several parties seem interested in his well-being though is new.Julian Devorak, Doctor Devorak for you, thank you very much, is forced into the wrong circles in order to keep up his oath, and meets unexpected people there. What are his sister's connections to the underworld and the mysterious Count? Why does she know that silent boxer so very well, and why is that white-haired, heavily tattooed criminal so... oddly charming?This vaguely Edwardian AU is inspired by the turn-of-the-century London. Think a wild mix of Selfridges, Peaky Blinders and Downton Abbey combined with a good dash of Vesuvian magic...





	1. The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asra is brought before Chief Inspector Valerius to answer for a mysterious crime.   
> Did he do it? Or is there more to the story than meets the eye?

“Asra. It is still only Asra, I presume, and you still are utterly innocent and have no idea why you’re here.” The bleached blond pinched his nose. The presence of the young man promised trouble, because it always did, with his important friends asking nicely for him to be released. “Surely all a misunderstanding, as usual, and the blood on your clothes got there by accident, or is it paint or…?

Valerius shook his head. It was like the boy wanted to be caught, appearing before him and ruining his already fragile day again and again. At least, these days it went straight to him. That made it easier to keep it off the files.

Lucio—or as he liked to be referred to, The Count—paid Valerius a pretty stipend to make sure those that worked for him stayed out of trouble. Officially.

They got into all manner of trouble that never made it into an official report.

The Chief Inspector sighed, leaning back in his chair. The extra money kept his bad habits well funded, at least.

The young white-haired man before him shrugged. “Accident. Paint.” Asra looked down at the red stains on his clothing. “Whichever you prefer.” He smiled that same impish smile he had had since he was nothing more than a street urchin being dragged into the station for petty theft every other day.

The boy had done all right for himself, in a manner of speaking. There were worse fates for a person like Asra to befall than doing… whatever he did for a man like Lucio.

“No idea about the cause of death too, I guess? You just hung around there because you missed me so dearly and needed to see me again?”

Valerius was not a violent man. One who did what was necessary, maybe a bit more, but the smug little grin on the pretty face made his fists itch. It was that certain arrogance the boy shouldn’t be able to afford and yet had so plenty of.

“Is that so hard to believe? You and I are old friends, Val. Of course I missed you.” Asra lifted both hands and turned them palm-up, a gesture of supplication or feigned ignorance. “And like I told your officers, I stumbled upon the scene just as you found it. Only thought I’d do my civil duty by staying to give a statement. Wouldn’t want an unfortunate misunderstanding.” The young man was still grinning, violet eyes alight. But there was a darkness in them too. Fear? A warning?

Valerius needed a drink. His head had already begun to pound.

“How has life treated you, Asra? You don’t look so well.”

That was even true. The boy looked tired, ashen somehow, it pouring through his radiant exterior. Sometimes the chief wondered if he was just another one of the Count’s private whores, but Lucio kept those out of trouble. It was just a hunch that made him ask the next question. “Are you hurt?”

Asra’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. If Valerius hadn’t had known the man before him since he was a naught but a boy of ten years, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight flash of… something in his face. In a second, Asra’s expression was back to one of humorous indifference. “Never better.”

“Jolly well then.” The chief almost managed to copy his cheery tone, if it hadn’t been for the slight mockery in his voice. “But since you are here, and got blood on you that’s probably not yours…. You know how it goes. Hands against the wall, legs spread.”

Asra took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Surely that isn’t necessary.”

“I can do it, or I can call one of my men. Your decision, kid.” He cracked his fingers.

Valerius’ brand of kindness was an odd one. It was not the kind that ever required thanks from those he helped, because it was so _accidental_. Turning a blind eye at just the right moment, or turning his attention to something in just the right one. All by chance. Or luck. Nothing that could have presumed sympathy from the man.

Asra sighed and walked over to the wall, placing his hands flat against it.

“Really, Val… this is a waste of time,” he said, but he shifted his feet until they were shoulder-width apart and waited nonetheless.

After a moment, he glanced back at Valerius. The mischief had returned to his violet eyes. “What are you waiting for, Inspector?”

" _Chief inspector_ ”

The pale eyes were quick on the intake, dancing over the slender frame, looking for irregularities. Little shifts in position because a movement was uncomfortable or hurt, a spot where the red marks were fresher or blooming from inside the clothes. “Where’s your jacket, Asra? It’s too cold outside for being outside like that.”

Asra didn’t answer Valerius’ question right way. He just looked back at the wall.

“I…” he started, paused. Asra’s hand twitched. “I must have forgotten it.”

He was only dressed in a white shirt and trousers, the red blood more startling against the white cotton.

“It was a nice jacket too.” The last part was barely audible.

The inspector got up. Laid aside his own jacket and started patting down the younger man, not really focusing on the contents of his pockets, but on his left side, where the tattoo of a snake curled up his arm, white and violet and dotted with crimson. Waited for the unavoidable flinch as his hands touched wetness that soaked through white fabric.

Asra sucked in a breath, but kept his eyes trained forward. His hands had closed into fists against the wall.

“Careful.” His voice trembled slightly. "I’m… ticklish.”

“Ran into something, mh? Just a little bruise?” the other offered as he wiped his bloody fingers on a white hanky.

“You know me, always tripping over things.”

Valerius knew Asra was anything but clumsy. He had survived as long as he had on the streets by picking pockets, a skill that required almost immaculate coordination. But Asra would never admit to the truth–not the whole truth–Valerius had learned that too over the years.

Blood was spreading slowly over Asra’s shirt now. It hadn’t been doing that before.

“I see. It’s a curse, that. Well, Asra. Gotta keep you here for a while, just until the paperwork's done. Will send somebody to take care of you, so you don’t stumble again.” He sighed. One of those days.

“Just one more thing, for you to think about. I know you didn’t kill him. Two of your kind wouldn’t be strong enough to hurt someone like that, and we both know that with your friends it will be ruled an accident in the end. But I do like to have a good idea what’s going on in my city. If you remember anything…”

Asra must have taken his words as a sign he could leave his position on the wall, taking his hands away to press one lightly to his side. He grimaced.

The young man said nothing at first. Valerius thought he wouldn’t say anything at all, but eventually he broke the silence. “It… was self-defense. That man was trying to kill me.”

"Hrm. Was it personal?"

"You know, I didn't stop to ask him as he tried to skewer me." Asra wrinkled his nose. "I'd never seen him before."

"So you stayed to see what he had in his pockets, maybe get a clue who sent him, while the one who helped you takes off with the weapon and your nice jacket?" The inspector took out a silver case of cigarettes and was polite enough to offer it to his guest first.

"I was alone. And if your men didn't find the weapon, that was their incompetence."

Asra took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Valerius' desk, gingerly lowering himself down as one hand still cradled his side. "I try to be helpful and you accuse me of picking over the dead and having an accomplice." He took one of the cigarettes Valerius offered and placed it carefully between his lips, waiting for a light. "Besides," he added, mumbling around the thing in his mouth, "I already told you I'd left my jacket somewhere."

"So in your panic you managed to break several bones with your bare hands? Impressive, I must say." The dancing flame of a match cast a brief warmth on his clammy skin.

Asra leaned forward and lit his cigarette, sucking in a deep breath before letting out a cloud of white smoke. It curled in the air, looking faintly like a twisting serpent.

"I suppose one doesn't truly know their own strength until someone is trying to stab them."

He stared at the cigarette in his hand and made a face. "These taste awful by the way." It didn't stop him from taking another drag.

"I'm trying to quit."

That was true, and had been for years. A man needed his vices, and Valerius had plenty of those, just to make up for sometimes trying to be a decent human being, something not too healthy for a man in his position.

"You still do fortune telling, right?"

Asra eyed him warily. “Occasionally. Why?”

"Tell me the chances of you coming to me in time if something like this happens again."

“Ah.”

Asra pulled a tarot deck seemingly from nowhere, though it had probably just been hidden in some pocket, and drew a few cards. It was just for show. Valerius knew he wouldn’t tell him what the cards said. If they said anything at all.

After a moment of dramatic shuffling, the young man held up a card decorated with seven swords, though it was upside down between his two fingers.

“Unlikely.” Asra smiled.

"Which one stands for strange surprises?"

Either the inspector had an unusually slow day or something to attend he really wanted to avoid.

Asra laughed once, then coughed, clutching his side. But he pulled a card from his deck without looking, sliding it face down across the desk to Valerius. He flipped it over. The Fool.

He studied it intently, immaculate brows slightly raised. Held it up then, back towards Asra. "Pull a card. Any card."

Asra plucked The Fool from his grasp and replaced it in the deck before shuffling them around again. It was quite a feat considering he was doing so with one hand. Then he dropped the deck on Valerius’ desk and turned over the top card. A looming black tower, its peak on fire, set before a storm. A single figure falling in the foreground. “A warning.”

Gone was the mirth in Asra’s face. His eyes had cooled to hard amethysts.

"Probably what I'd pull every day." The inspector briefly tensed as his stomach reminded him with a sharp pang of pain he was not cut for the job. Got up, face ashen, a hand on his left ribs, somehow mirroring the state of his prisoner. "Goodbye, Asra. Try to stay out of harm's way."

“Unlikely,” the young man said with a smile, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. He watched as Valerius went to the door.

“Wait.” Asra went to stand but his face crumpled in pain and he fell back into the chair. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me in here!”

But Valerius was already gone, the door clicking as he was locked inside.


	2. Strange Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Julian Devorak arrives to help a patient in need and gets more than he bargained for.

Some people coped well with boredom and would have no problem at all with staying in an almost empty room for an hour or two, just to get a breather, but Asra was none of those people, especially not with a locked door keeping him from his freedom.

He paced, even though his side felt like it was on fire every time he took a step. He could not stay still, mind nor body. Despite being in a relatively safe location, Asra couldn’t help but look for an escape. It was an old habit. Confined spaces never sat well with him.

And his side was bleeding more and more, the blood trailing down his trouser leg. It had soaked through the hastily wrapped cloth he had bound it before being brought in. He needed a doctor; his head was already feeling light. And it had been an hour, maybe more, since Valerius had left. Time was starting to loose its meaning in this room. But he knew that if he didn’t get medical attention soon, he would be in trouble. 

And then, it knocked.

Knocked on the door, politely. At first he wondered if he was already imagining things, but then, it knocked again. Someone opened the door and gave the knocker a friendly push. "Just go in, Doc. Won't bite." Not a voice Asra knew, and neither did he know the lanky redhead in stern black clothes that stumbled in, neither as elegantly nor as suave as he probably had intended. Fixed the glasses that sat in silver frames to their right position and placed a large leather bag he had brought onto the empty chair across the table. Eyed Asra, and blushed, not expecting a witness of the conscious kind.

"So you are the, um, how did he put it so eloquently, godsawful little brat that needs my help?"

Asra paused, staring down the intruder blinking at him behind his round spectacles. “That depends,” he said, “on who you are.”

"Julian," the redhead said, then "Julian Devorak," then "Doctor Julian Devorak. Of the medical persuasion, should you fear that they sent one of another kind. And you are...? No, don't tell me, I know the answer is Hurt and None of your business. May I see the wound?"

He still didn’t move. This man spoke too much. “Where’s Valerius?” He swallowed. “The Chief Inspector.” Asra supposed Val wouldn’t like him throwing around his given name.

It wasn’t that Asra liked the man, per se. But he did trust him. And it took a long time to earn Asra’s trust. Asra did not trust this man—this Doctor Julian Devorak—as far as he could throw him. He seemed nervous. Jumpy. Maybe it was an act. Maybe he was here to finish the job the first attacker had started.

"Busy. He sent one of his men to get me from my bed, because someone needed some patching up. Said to tell you I was a, um, surprised stranger, no, strange surprise?" A grin with white teeth. The doctor had a hard time hiding how uncomfortable he was with the situation.

Asra huffed a laugh. Strange surprise, indeed. Then groaned. New blood seeped through his fingers, dying his amber skin red.

“Fine,” he said. He moved to lift his shirt back from the wound, then peeled away the rag he’d wrapped it with. The cloth stuck to his skin, sticky with blood, painfully pulling at the open wound in his side. It had not been a sharp or clean weapon his assailant had used.

"If you'd be so kind to sit?"

From the bag he produced a variety of uncomfortable looking metal tools, a spool of silken thread and a pair of thin leather gloves together with a few bottles. Soaked a piece of cloth in some liquid and gingerly cleaned up the outside of the wound. As soon as his hands touched the young man's skin, they became steady, and his shoulders relaxed. At least, he seemed at home and at ease with this.

"Do you have any idea what tool was used? It doesn't look like a knife wound."

Asra flinched as the man cleansed around the wound, trying to suppress his urge to kick the doctor where it hurt most and flee out the door. But that wouldn't help his side any.

He bit his lip. "I didn't get a good look at it, unfortunately. I was too busy being stabbed."

"Maybe a file--" the man mused, grey eyes focused on the opening in the tissue. "Uneven edges. Was he larger than you? The attacker, I mean."

"What's with all the questions? Valerius ask you to interrogate me?"

"I can poke something in to find out where the wound channel goes, or you can tell me to give me an idea. Your choice, really." A certain sharpness in his voice that promised he wouldn't care either way.

Arsa wrinkled his nose. He did not like to be threatened. Especially not by a hawk-faced sawbones. "It was a screwdriver," he said through clenched teeth. "And it was rusty."

"Ah, excellent choice. Maybe dipped in excrements too, for exciting possibilities of infection. Do you have a doctor you trust enough to check the healing process regularly?"

He smiled, some of that impish glee returning to his features. "I do now."

Again, the hawk blushed, averting his eyes. Asra knew this reaction, even if he usually earned it from woman.

"I'm going to open the wound now and clean it out as much as possible. I would like to put you to sleep during the procedure, because it won't be pleasant. Are you alright with that?"

"No." Asra practically growled the word. "I am not all right with that."

No one was knocking him out. He would be conscious for whatever the man had to do. He had probably experienced worse pain in his lifetime than some back-alley doctor poking around in a wound.

A long exhale. "Fine. A little something against some of the pain then? At least that?"

"Like what?" he asked, none too kindly.

If he had learned anything in his short and sorry life, it was not to trust someone asking you to consume something that might alter your wits, especially when your wits were all you had. Vulnerability was dangerous.

Now, he learned another thing. If you asked a man of science for something that interested him, you might get an answer way more thoroughly than what you hoped for, and such was the answer Asra got. An impromptu treatise about opioids and the uses thereof, and which exotic ingredients were needed to improve the effects of dream-inducement and drowsiness, and how immensely improved...

Devorak stopped mid-sentence. Looked up, just remembering why he was here. "So, yes or no?"

“No.” Asra knew what an opioid was. Had spent enough time in Lucio’s many opium dens to see what it did to a person. How much they lost themselves. He wouldn’t let that happen to him, even just to lessen the pain. Pain reminded you you were alive. “Just get on with it, Devorak.”

A sharp intake of air and a nod. The doctor was not happy with that decision, but accepted it. Offered a piece of wood to bite on, and went ahead with spreading the wound open with metal tongs. Waited a moment to see his patient's reaction.

Asra bit down until the wood creaked, but otherwise remained still. Pain was also something he was used to.

"Impressive..." a voice below him mumbled. "I'm going to rinse it now. Might sting a bit."

That it did. More than a bit, really, but it wasn't worse than the pain that was already in the area, just really, really odd.

Thankfully the wound had been shallow. He had dodged at the last minute, the unusually sharp end of the screwdriver missing his heart, but he hadn’t moved quickly enough for it to miss plunging into his side. And Muriel had pulled the man away before he could try again. The force of the throw had his assailant nearly flying across the room.

Muriel. Asra hoped he was alright. He had told the big guy to run... that he would find him.

Asra had to get out of here. Soon. Muriel had suffered a slash across his forearm when the attacker charged at them again, and it had looked deep and jagged. Muriel would need medical attention as well and Asra doubted he had sought it out on his own. His jacket had just barely been enough to wrap Muriel’s arm to stop the blood.

The doctor was thorough and silently whistling under his breath. This didn't seem to be something he considered a challenge. "You doing alright up there?"

Asra nodded. If he thought about Muriel, he wouldn’t focus on the burning spreading across his side, the sharp sting of the swab as it cleaned the wound. But the traitorous muscles in his stomach spasmed, giving him away even if his voice didn’t. It hurt. But he could handle it.

"Almost done..." came after a while. "I'll dress the wound now, and you promise me to stay in bed as soon as I brought you home. I'll be back tomorrow to check the wound."

Stay in bed. Asra almost laughed, but decided against it. His side wouldn’t thank him any. “Sure, doc. Whatever you say.”

The redhead rolled his eyes by the tone of the answer alone. "You can do what you like, but if you move, it won't heal properly. Best case a really ugly scar that keeps you from proper movement, worst case death. But it's your choice. Hold here."

Asra did as he was told, albeit begrudgingly. He supposed it probably wouldn’t be in his best interest hurt himself further. Or, you know, die. Though part of him suspected the doctor was just trying to frighten him into staying in bed.

It was only on the way back home, when the adrenaline left him, that he noticed how tired, how drained he was, and he had to hold onto the birdman's wiry, surprisingly strong arm to stay on his feet.

When he woke up, the pale guy was there again, or still. Asra didn't quite remember getting into bed, but he hadn't bothered undressing completely, still decent enough with his pants on. Something wet and cold lay on his forehead, surprisingly pleasant.

Asra reached up and touched it. A damp cloth had been placed there. He didn’t even know he owned a clean cloth, though it probably belonged to the doctor. “How long have you been here?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

"About twenty minutes. I was just about to leave again, since the fever went down and you seemed to sleep so well. Finally. Had me a bit worried there." He came over and sat down at the bedside. Not a hawk. Crow waiting for death. Waiting for food.

Asra shivered at the thought. The crow-faced doctor would have to go hungry for today. He had no plans to die anytime soon. “Fever?” He had been feeling off on the walk home. Cold. Shaky. His face still felt flushed.

Muriel.

He sat up too quickly, his head swimming until he saw stars. The wet cloth fell onto his lap. Muriel was still out there, somewhere, bleeding.

"The whole ordeal put quite the strain on your body, and that is just his way of reacting. Please, don't do that." Gentle hands tried to lay him back down. "You're not in the condition for wild undertakings. You need to rest. To drink."

Asra flopped back down onto the bed. His throat felt raw, like someone had forced him to swallow sandpaper. “Water sounds nice. Or tea.”

Getting him some water was easy enough. "Small sips. If you think you'll stay awake, I'll go and get some soup for you."

“That’s very kind of you, Doctor. Mock turtle soup is my favorite.”

"Good on you.” The tiniest bit of irony in the redhead’s voice. “If I accidentally stumble over some, I'll be sure to bring it. But for the more important question: How do you feel?"

Asra sighed and pulled himself up so he could lean against the headboard. The movement caused his side to sting, but it felt much better than it had yesterday. Thanks to the doctor currently looming over him. Not that he would admit it.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

"From what the wound looks like, we were in luck. No infection. Let's try our best to let it stay that way. Anything else I can get you from the outside?"

The doctor’s grey eyes were focused on Asra's face, having the professional courtesy not to stare at the extensive artwork on his skin, but then, maybe he had already done that while Asra was out cold.

“I suppose a kebab would be pushing it?” Asra tried his best to smile sweetly. He was always hungry, probably making up for the years spent starving as a child.

His skin was starting to itch under the doctor’s intense gaze, though. He scratched at one of the tattoos on his shoulder, but the doctor seemed to be trying to looking anywhere other than at his tattoos.

“Not a fan of ink?” Asra held up his left arm, turning it this way and that, making the purple and white snake wrapped around his forearms slither up his skin a little, just enough that someone might mistake it for a trick of the light.

The doctor twitched, and for a moment he had the face of someone questioning their own sanity. Maybe Faust had been a bad girl why he slept. Sometimes she was when things grew too boring.

"No kebap. Much too heavy for the state you're in. You lost a lot of blood, so liquids. Maybe a bit of red wine to help with recovering what was lost."

There were worse things for a doctor to prescribe than wine. Asra arched a brow. “One red liquid out, another red liquid in?”

"Basically. The balance of the liquids in the body is a delicate one, and you may have noticed the positive influence of red wine on the circulation." A short, practiced move of long fingers to bring his glasses back into position. "Also, it helps against the pain. Your friend knows a thing or two about that."

His...? Ah. Valerius. Asra smirked. “Well, whatever you say, doc. I’m in your hands while this,“ he gestured to the bandage on his side, “ heals.”

The redhead threw him a look, quite obviously not believing him. Forced a smile on his face. "I'll be back in a few hours. Try to empty this pitcher, if you manage. Sleep some more."

“Ah, wait.” Asra paused. Could he trust this man, crow face and all?

But then… Did he have a choice?

Muriel could take care of himself--he had proved that much last night--but he still needed medical attention. They had been injured by the same weapon, and he didn’t want the man that saved him to die in some alleyway of a fever. A man he had known since they were both children. A friend.

Muriel wouldn’t thank him any for sending this man to him, but he was worried for him. He wanted to know he was alright. Asra would just have to trust the doctor to keep his oath. What was it? Do no harm?

“My... friend. He was wounded too.”

"Your friend. And I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut about his existence, judging by your face. Are you asking for a favor or are you willing to pay?"

Asra’s face darkened. “The Count would probably be very grateful if you made sure his prized fighter kept all their limbs intact.” Maybe he had made a mistake mentioning Muriel to this man.

The doctor's face hardened. "So this is why the inspector cares for your life. I see." Devorak seemed to think the same thing. It was a mistake to come back here. And yet… "Your friend. Let's keep it at that. Do you think he'd react well if I come unannounced?“

Asra decided to be honest. For once. “Probably not.”

"So what shall I do if he's hurt? You want to write him a letter to explain things to him?" Palms open. Let me help.

A thought came to him. He didn’t like it. The doctor wouldn’t like it. But Muriel would know he had sent him. “Give me your hand. And don’t panic. She doesn’t like when people panic.”

"She? Is your friend a lady?" He probably meant Muriel and the advise one for things to come later, but reached out with his hand nonetheless, lying it down in the bronze one, pale and cool and slightly sweaty. Smiled nervously. "Like this? A strange start for a secret handshake."

“Good.” Asra’s took hold of the doctor’s hand, trapping him with a grip like a vice so that he wouldn’t be able to pull away. “And don’t panic.”

He should probably have warned Devorak, but it would be hard to explain, and he might not agree. Showing was sometimes less complicated than telling.

The snake wrapped around his forearm slowly began to change direction, turning over and sliding down his skin towards the doctor’s. He felt the other man yank back, but Asra held firm.

“Go on, Faust. It’s all right. He’s going to take you to Mu.”

The tattoo hesitated, flicking its tongue a few times before slithering from Asra’s arm onto Julian’s. It wrapped around his wrist, it’s head settling on the back of his hand. Faust looked a bit sickly against the doctor’s pasty skin.

“Her name is Faust. She’s my best girl, so be nice to her. Muriel will recognize her. That’s my friend’s name. Muriel.” Asra looked up at Julian.

The doctor fainted.


End file.
